


just a step forward

by HiddenEye



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Because that was my initial thought, Blood, But I'm just gonna tag the ship, Can be read as gen, M/M, Shiro is a furry confirmed, some violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-01
Updated: 2017-04-01
Packaged: 2018-10-13 16:15:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10517310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HiddenEye/pseuds/HiddenEye
Summary: “If there are any difficulties in walking, sitting, or others, you must tell me and I will fix it.”“Fix it,” the human echoes flatly, eyes glued to his covered finger. “And then, you'll throw me into the arena again.”Ulaz doesn't lift his head. “Yes.”“Fantastic.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> How dare y'all pull me into this

Ulaz has been assigned to make sure the Champion doesn't kill himself in the arena after his current success.

Watching the footage of the fights, where he has all but barge his way past large beasts and agile creatures of various speeds and strength alike makes Ulaz wonder if he fights to spite, if his very being of resisting against every swing of sword and body tossing is to not win the title some would want, but to show that he is untouchable despite being smaller.

The Champion's much paler skin is the very proof of it, easily penetrable than those of Galra and yet he continues his advances with gaping wounds and bared teeth.

It takes Ulaz a single look to know that he needs to use a much finer needle to stitch the sliced flesh back together; some might considered it a tedious job, but he finds the rhythmic motion soothing enough to let his mind be at ease as he does his work properly.

“Curious,” is all Ulaz mutters as the guards pulls the stretcher into the quarantine room, where the Champion lies on it with another's blood splattered against the side of his face after taking down a large beast with claws for poison; unconscious, dead if he isn't shaking with pain and exhaustion.

Sucking out the dense green fluid from his system causes his screams to bounce off the walls, before Ulaz buries a needle into the Champion's chest to end his suffering as he all but sleeps through the rest of the operation.

Like every winner before him, the human, as Ulaz begins to learn about his species, is given the advantage of being treated as properly as one would have when they are given expectations from others. The human will be given enough supplements to make sure he will be strong enough to continue his fights, where he'll be ready to walk back in without being at a disadvantage.

Being his medic has given Ulaz the opportunity to study him carefully.

It’s been vargas since the last time the Champion has being deposited into his cell, and Ulaz is already going through the daily routine on making sure their prisoner doesn't die in the middle of the night from any overlooked mistakes.

When the door pulls up with a scan of his hand, Ulaz takes a step into the semi-dark room, where his eyes land onto the hunched figure at the far end of the bench.

It doesn't surprise him to see the Champion already waiting for him, the hackles of his back rising at the sight of Galra walking into his cell as he warily eyes him from head to toe, most likely trying to decipher the stranger before him.

“I will check your vitals,” Ulaz says slowly, his tongue tasting the soft language of human speech, and the Champion straightens his spine with wide eyes. “Any resistance will be taken into account, and guards would be sent in to make sure it doesn't happen again.”

The human stares at him as Ulaz takes his hand, pricking his finger with a pen to take a sample of his scarlet blood. “How-?”

“I'm required to know the way you speak in order for me to understand whether your body needs more medical attention than what I'm giving you,” Ulaz says simply, pressing a piece of gauze onto the wound before he gestures for the human to hold it. “And it would be easier for us to communicate properly.”

“You're a doctor?”

“I'm a medic, yes,” after shaking the pen slightly, Ulaz taps into the tab he brings with one hand, updating the Champion's log for further analysis. “If there are any difficulties in walking, sitting, or others, you must tell me and I will fix it.”

“Fix it,” the human echoes flatly, eyes glued to his covered finger. “And then, you'll throw me into the arena again.”

Ulaz doesn't lift his head. “Yes.”

“Fantastic.”

Dragging his attention towards the smaller creature in front of him, Ulaz takes note of the human's clenched jaw and light-coloured eyes, and of what little hair that falls into his face as it starts to whiten around the roots. He starts to wonder whether it's only in his genes to make it such or it happens to all humans.

Hatred for their fate on this base where it's crawling with Galra is something common among the prisoners, and it's no different that the Champion loathes being in the same space with one of them at the moment.

“I need your name.” Ulaz says, meeting his sharp look.

“Why?”

“It is protocol for me to ask.”

The human continues to scrutinise him, clearly irked at the response while Ulaz waits for him patiently. “Shiro.” He finally relents, and Ulaz taps the information down.

“Food will be given with the right amount of nutrients your body will need, I suggest eating it to the fullest,” Ulaz continues, eyes flickering towards the untouched food at the corner of the cell. “You will need your strength.”

“I thought you wouldn't care whether or not I died.” Shiro responds blandly, sidestepping Ulaz’s jab with grace.

“I don't,” Ulaz agrees. “But, your admirers do.”

“Fuck them, and fuck you.”

Ulaz pauses for a split second at the casual profanity, before nodding towards the tray of food. “Eat, and I will come back to check on you after your next fight.”

When he leaves, it takes him to pass four other cells before his ears twitch at the distant way the tray is being dragged across the floor.

 

* * *

 

Shiro, Ulaz notices, fights with tact.

While most would have done things a little more desperate and somewhat frantic, Shiro sees the possibilities that unravels before him instead of going in headfirst, thinking on his feet while he dodges and hits his opponents with the correct amount of strength and time. It becomes a pattern to make his fights as clean as possible, playing with his opponents before twisting his weapon into their hidden soft spot until they drop dead; minimum blood spilled, only some that manages to stain Shiro's tunic as he wipes away his sweat.

Shiro may not have the training of a soldier, but he knows to outsmart his opponents with a level of cunningness and ability that Ulaz have never seen before. And as he watches from the hologram of the medical bay, audio turned off as his peers shows deep interest in the fights, he thinks this to be admirable.

Quintant after quintant, Ulaz is able to see the faith and hope Shiro carries on his shoulders, something that doesn't exists for the past hundreds of years that Ulaz thinks this might be a _chance._

An omen, one that they all desperately need.

“You've thought through this.”

The accusation in that statement is almost nonexistent, but faint enough to be noticed even though it's been carefully pushed back. “I have,” Ulaz confirms, one eye on the closed doors of the medical room as he goes through another prisoner's log. “And I think it would be the safest bet.”

“There isn't any room for betting,” Thace points out, and like Ulaz, he has his front facing the doors in case an unexpected guest walks in. “Our time is tight and Leader would want a status report of what we've been doing for the past weeks we were here. Dragging in that creature into our plan would ruin what we've worked hard for.”

“Shiro will be used as a distraction,” facing the younger Galra, Ulaz meets his eyes evenly. “until I’ll tell Kolivan himself of what intel I’ve collected while you continue to override the commander ship’s systems the moment you arrive there.”

Thace studies him. “We won't be able to communicate now that I'll be Prorok’s Lieutenant in the heart of the ship.”

“I was aware of it the moment you were given the honour.”

“There's no honour in pretending to be one of them as I do nothing but watch what's left of civilisation being destroyed.”

“There's still hope in this,” Ulaz insists. “We just need more time.”

“And we both know that's running out as well,” Thace tells him with a growl of impatience, but stops himself from going further by thinning his lips, as if suddenly remembering the authority Ulaz carries over him as one of the higher members. “How do you suggest we use this human to our advantage?”

“Trust him,” Ulaz replies. “so he can trust us.”

“We’ll be working under Zarkon's command for the whole while until it's time to leave,” Thace reminds him. “No one is going to trust us here, even Zarkon's minions are wary of us.”

“Have faith and you'll succeed.” Ulaz turns his back on him. “Now, will you excuse me,  one of the prisoners will die with her child if I don't see to them soon, and I must go now before the other doctors kill them out of recklessness.”

Thace shakes his head slightly, but nonetheless moves aside to let him pass. “The guards make it seem as if we don't have anything else to do.”

“Tell them that yourself.” The only response Ulaz receives is a soft snort of disbelief.

Because they're supposed to be traditional species, where everyone used to follow what loose laws their community offers them; where they're given freedom to marry who they like, happiness just a grab away.

But he knows that Galra is ceasing into extinction, more of them dying from what dangers that's been sent to their way as sentries and druids take in their place of command.

He knows what they're doing, but it's still _wrong_ , and Ulaz doesn't approve the pain and suffering that comes with it.

He quickens his steps as the screams becomes louder, and he forces his ears to not draw back out of worry before he faces the others.

They'll have to hurry if they want to end this now.

 

* * *

 

“Why are you doing this?”

“It's my job,” Ulaz answers, tugging onto the needle as the thread tightens around the flesh. “As I’ve told you before.”

“Not exactly,” Shiro mutters, wincing as he watches the way Ulaz focuses onto his shoulder; most of the bleeding has stopped after Ulaz poured some sort of alcohol onto the gaping stretch of a wound where the monster hooked his claw in, causing Shiro to scream through the piece of plastic that's been shoved between his teeth to bear with the bubbling pain. “But, the others-”

“The others make everything appear political while I’m merely doing what requires professionalism and patience,” Ulaz cuts him off, lifting his eyes to meet the furrowed brows of the Champion while he tightens the knot of the thread. “This will hurt.”

Quickly, he snaps the remaining off before smearing an equivalent version of a painkiller lubricant onto the sealed wound, causing Shiro to flinch as a pained grunt passes through his gnashed teeth, sweat collecting at his brow.

Then, he chuckles breathlessly. “You sound like Spock,” he observes Ulaz through squinted eyes from where he's still hunched on the cot. “All formal and proper, and it's,” his smile turns into a grimace when he peers at his glaringly red flesh. “it's funny.”

Delirious, Ulaz notes, his body not be able to take the amount of drugs a normal Galran soldier would. “Your food will be waiting for you in your cell, you should regain your strength once you get back.”

“I don't usually eat after fighting,” Shiro mumbles, almost tripping over his words as his fingers flit over the zigzag stitches. “Makes me sick.”

“Drink, at least.” Ulaz walks towards the sink, washing his hands. “You won't feel as queasy then.”

When he turns back towards him, Shiro is staring at him with suspicion in his eyes, most of the haziness dulled down into something milder. “Why do you keep helping me?”

“Tending to the wounded is what I do-”

“No, no, don't give me that crap,” Shiro lifts a hand up to stop him, before dropping it on the cot beside him as he continues to look at him warily. “The other doctors won't be like this whenever you couldn't treat me, they wouldn't be giving me _advice_ on how to take care of myself. Why would you?”

It's a mistake to underestimate the human who defeated the former Gladiator ten times his size, to simply assume that Shiro wouldn't caught on what Ulaz has been trying to hide him from.

Shiro has to be alive and strong enough for what plan Ulaz has laid out for him later, it's the only way for everything to work.

“I make sure my work hasn't gone to waste because I wasn't careful in doing it well,” he says instead, evenly meeting his eyes. “a feat that earned me the title of being the head doctor in this medical wing in the first place. You weren't the only Champion I had to take care of, Shiro.”

It’s true, of course, he's been on the base long enough to clamber his way up in order to earn everyone's trust, where any suspicions that coincidentally happened wouldn’t be aimed at his way immediately.

Humiliation flashes past his expression, and Shiro focuses onto his shoulder again. “I'm sorry.”

Ulaz only takes a few steps towards his way to take his chin between his fingers, tilting his head up that makes Shiro look at him with wide eyes, before he switches on the small flashlight in his hand to aim it into his retinas. “You will be experiencing some drowsiness due to the drug,” he informs him, switching to the other eye. “The dose I gave you was too much for your system, and you'll be feeling some fatigue after you wake up as well.”

“Hangover in space,” Shiro murmurs almost in wonder, and Ulaz steps away from the cot. “Matt is going to flip out.”

Ulaz presses onto the button of his tab, before the doors slide open to reveal two Galran guards. “Your stitches will open if you’re not careful,” he warns, and Shiro tenses at the sight of them. “Be mindful of it.”

Shiro pushes himself off the cot, glaring at the two soldiers when they flank at his sides to escort him out. “Fine.”

“This includes you two as well,” Ulaz continues with a pointed look towards them, where one of them blinks at him in surprise. “If he’s unconscious on the floor, you will be answering to the Emperor on why the Champion isn't able to provide us with his admirers’ promised money, and you won't be able to eat for the whole month because of it.”

Both of them pale at the thought while Shiro darts his eyes between them, clearly not understanding the Galran language, before settling his confused look on Ulaz.

He nods towards the door. “Go.”

 

* * *

 

Anger was an emotion Ulaz rarely feels.

And as he storms down the hallways of the ship, robes flying behind him while most of the guards make way for him to pass, he knows that this is dangerous for himself and dangerous for the Blade of Marmora.

Because not being control of oneself is neglecting the vow he first did in the hallways of the organisation, where his younger self would be perplexed at the sight of him snarling at those who step in his way as he heads towards the quarantine room.

Slamming his hand on the pad, the doors slides open a second later, and Ulaz stills at the heavy smell of copper wafting out of the room as he sees the way the druids are already cleaning up after the work they've done.  

Shiro remains unconscious on the operating table, the lights that shines brightly above him makes the scars on his naked torso stand out; his red blood still smeared against his skin is virtual proof of how their cleaning has only been half-attempted.

What's left of his mangled arm Ulaz saw from the hologram is gone, and its place is a cybernetic one that he knows as one of the few experiments that has been pulled back from being tasted, since they haven't had a perfect master for them to install it on.

“Ulaz.”

He snaps his attention from the arm, trying to not sneer as he speaks. “The Champion is under my supervision.”

Haggar smiles with sharp teeth. “I am saving what's left of the Champion when you aren't around to take over.”

“I was forced to see to a different prisoner at the last minute when the other doctors have all but disappeared,” he growls, gripping onto the door frame. “One with a broken bone that is hit from near range and is distinguished as the butt of a blaster. If this is your way of taking the Champion from me-”

“Taking him from you?” she laughs, voice shrill that causes him to ground his molars. “Are you attached to him, Ulaz? Wanting to keep him for all yourself?”

"I am his doctor,” he reprimands firmly, stalking towards the cot as he presses two of his fingers under Shiro's jaw, where the human doesn't even stir as his heartbeat flutters weakly under his touch. “If any changes were to happen, it should be informed to me as a precaution-”

“Your concern is touching, but the Champion handled this quite well.” She waves her hand dismissively. “Like all the other Champions before him when they were under your care, of course, back when you hadn't stormed your way here to check on them like you are on him.”

The full blow of his mistake finally sinks in, and Ulaz tries to soothe his thudding heart as he meets her wicked eyes. “The Emperor favours him more, I'm doing my best to preserve that.”

“Not more than you do, so it would seem,” Haggar snides. “Do you plan to keep him after this? Make him as your little pet you'll coddle to the end of his short days?”

He bristles at the taunt, but she continues without mercy.

“He belongs to the Empire and the Empire alone,” she sneers at Shiro with contempt. “Snatching him away is questioning your loyalty to whom you drop your knees for.”

And then, she whisks away with two of the other druids following behind her. “Make sure he wakes up by tomorrow, the crowd would want to see his new arm into action.”

Once the door slides shut, Ulaz is able to hear his own heavy breathing filling in the empty space as he quickly makes his way towards where the towels are kept, drenching one under the short burst of water before wiping the drying blood on Shiro's body. He's careful to avoid his right arm, no doubt still sensitive after all the violation Haggar did after bringing him out of the arena.

He drags the towel over the white forelock, where the droplets of water turns pink with diluted blood as they trail to the side of Shiro's face, catching on to the corner of his eye as Ulaz continues at his shoulders.

Sighing, Ulaz rinses the towel before squeezing the water out, tossing it in the nearby bucket as he pulls a stool towards the side of the cot to sit on, running his still wet hand down the side of his face.

Vigil doesn't take long before Shiro wakes up screaming with pain, back arching off the cot as Ulaz fills in the syringe with a dose of painkillers as he watches the Champion thrashing in his own nightmares with thinned lips, and he's about sink the needle inside Shiro's bicep when the new arm suddenly lights up a familiar purple.

Ulaz manages to dodge the flaying hand as it tries everything it can to make contact with anything near its range, before he takes hold of his elbow to pin it into place, burying the needle into his arm and pushing the medicine in.

He watches the way Shiro slowly sinks on the cot again with a stuttering release of his breath, body slacking with defeat as Ulaz pulls out the needle and presses a piece of gauze onto the wound to stop the bleeding.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters, running a hand over Shiro's temple. “I should have come sooner.”

Shiro only releases another heavy breath before he leans into the touch.

 

* * *

 

The fights after that has been more brutal than the last.

As if they're more interested in testing the Champion’s durability than seeing him win, and those strains are earning him more gashes and bleeding wounds.

Ulaz tries to treat them as efficiently as he can, but the arm has gotten more attention than they would have thought, and so fights were more frequent than Shiro can keep up.

Pity isn't something both of them want, but Ulaz does what he can to offer him quiet support.

“I think it’s time,” he murmurs, eyeing the doors past the hologram in front of him. “I'm only waiting for your command.”

“Good. Reach for us when you arrive at the base.”

He nods. “Yes, Leader.”

Kolivan doesn't sign off immediately, gaze heavy on him. “The Champion's well-being is under your full responsibility. Should he be as promising as you implied him to be, then it is time you come back to us.”

Ulaz bows his head. “I will.”

“Knowledge or death, Ulaz,” Kolivan reminds him quietly. “I will be waiting.”

Signing off, Ulaz makes his way towards one of the medical rooms, where the Champion is already brought there under his instructions.

It's time.


End file.
